


Set The World On Fire

by quizasvivamos



Series: Dark Brotherhood Klaine [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quizasvivamos/pseuds/quizasvivamos
Summary: The sequel to Friends Locked in Boxes: Five years have passed since ex-assassins Kurt and Blaine have spilled the blood of another. Now residing in the city of Solitude in the far northern reaches of Skyrim, both men have built new lives for themselves in attempt to leave where they came from in the distant past. However, when they witness a prostitute being assaulted, they decide to take justice into their own hands and find themselves falling back into old habits, realizing they may never truly escape their past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Riverance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riverance/gifts).



"This is bad.” Heavy huffs punctuated the severe understatement, his hoarse voice barely cutting through the brisk night air. “No, not bad - _terrible_."  
  
Kurt's lungs were an inferno inside his chest, his heartbeat rivaling the rapid rhythm of his feet. He chanced a glance over his shoulder before whipping back to face what was ahead of him. The skeletal trees were ghastly blurs as he skillfully dodged protruding roots and brush in hopes he wouldn't get tripped up. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his partner in crime keeping up with his frantic pace.

"I don't know what I was thinking. I don't know what I was _doing_. No, the problem is that I knew _exactly_ what I was doing," Kurt continued to ramble breathlessly.  
  
Blaine threw him a puzzled, concerned look. "You never used to flinch at acts even more heinous."  
  
"That was before...before everything changed. I had nothing to lose, and now I have everything to lose. And I - I can’t lose it."  
  
Blaine licked his dry lips. "Lose what, Kurt?"  
  
"Our home, security, the trust we've built with the people in town..."  
  
"It's not like the bastard didn't have it coming."  
  
Kurt couldn't help but laugh, which eased the tension and anxiety in his body for a brief moment.  
  
"Wait -" A dusty cloud was kicked up into the air as Blaine skidded to an abrupt stop and grabbed Kurt's arm, pulling him to a halt. "Why are we running? That was never our style. Besides, there's no one behind us."  
  
"We ran before -” Kurt’s brow furrowed. “You don't know that, Blaine. Surely someone has come across the body by now."  
  
"And you think they're going to know it was us? Have we given them a reason to suspect it?"  
  
"I - no, I guess not." Kurt heaved a sigh. He took a deep breath, locked eyes with Blaine, and then began to laugh aloud, reaching maniacal levels until he was nearly breathless again. His voice rang out through the wood, answered only by a sudden rustling sound as a startled creature darted from its hiding place and fled.

“Easy there, Kurt.” Blaine rested a hand on his back, his fingers curling up and over his shoulder. “You don’t want to alert any wolves in the area who might be looking for dinner. I’ve never seen you get so nervous after a kill. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”

“Those wolves are nothing to fear when you’re their Alpha,” Kurt remarked pointedly. “But, you’re right. You’re always right. We planned it all out, it was flawless, and if we’re being realistic, I doubt anyone will notice that that walking scum is missing for a while. But...it feels weird.”

Silence fell over them.

Blaine’s voice was gentler. “I know.”

“I never intended to take a man’s life again. And it felt...good. Inordinately and undeniably good.”

A wicked grin seized and ignited Blaine’s face. “I know. We did the city a favor. That snake will never harm another woman or man again.”

“It's your job to protect the city, Mister Guard Captain. Through lawful methods, of course. Looks like you've gone crooked.”

“The law doesn't protect everyone. Sometimes people like us need to step in.”

“I must admit, I like the sound of that. But there's so much at risk if we get caught. The jarl would be quick to hang a pair of vigilantes, especially a wayward guard captain who'd sworn his allegiance to follow orders.”

“Maybe I don't care what's at risk, Kurt. I've already dedicated half of my life to an abominable cause. I believed that joining the city guards would allow me to atone for my sins. But you saw how they looked the other way when that woman was attacked, and for what? Because she sells her body? I know what it's like to not have a choice, to have to do revolting things to survive, and no one deserves that. If I can save even one person, then I'll have lived a purposeful life. It will never make up for all the lives I've taken and the pain I've caused, but it will help me sleep better at night.” 

“That, my dear, is why I fell in love with you. Even with your hands around a man’s neck and his blood staining your skin, you're still thinking about the good in the world.”

“C’mon, Kurt.”

“I'm being serious. You're always thinking about the well-being of everyone else, and it's admirable. I know you’re passionate about all of this. You surprised me when you proposed we take care of that _problem_ by committing such a deed. I always expected that if we returned to our old ways it would be my idea, not yours.”

“You think too highly of me. Perhaps you have more good in you than you think. There’s no doubt you can be a very selfish man, but I’ve seen you change over the years. I know you would never accept a contract again, no matter the size of the reward offered.”

Kurt snorted. “It’s a shame, too, mainly because my talents are going to waste. There’s no hunting to be done around here. Everything’s imported from the surrounding villages.”

“I thought you were enjoying working at the inn. Has the joy in that worn off, too?”

“It hasn’t worn off in the slightest. I get along fine there, and the company is good. Corpulus keeps me fed and busy. Cleaning rooms is never dull. The things I find left behind by guests have given me a multitude of stories to tell, and the gossip is even juicier. No, it's not working at the inn that's making me nostalgic. I just feel that if I'm not using the skills I have, then what am I good for?”

“I understand. That's why I tried to go back to smithing again, but I felt like there was something I had left unresolved, some void I needed to fill.”

Kurt lifted his eyes, fixing Blaine with an earnest almost sad gaze. “Does policing the city fill that void for you?”

“Not as much as I'd hoped it would. But if we continue on the path we just set out on, if we create new purpose for ourselves, you will get to use your skills - to help people.”

“Sounds like a valiant cause, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be one of the good guys. It doesn’t seem I was born to play that role.”

“It doesn’t matter. Your past does not define you, and how can we truly determine what makes a man?” Blaine said. “There’s a fine line between good and evil, and there’s a fine line between a criminal and a hero.  And, all too often, it’s too difficult to determine on which side of the line most people stand.”

Kurt hummed in amusement, completely in awe. “Have you been sneaking off to the Bard’s College while I sleep? Your tongue is turning silver, and your heart grows more golden every day.”

“Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been secretly carousing with those heretics?” Blaine jested, pulling Kurt in close, his hand venturing south. “I would love to hear you sing…” He squeezed.

Kurt barked a brief laugh. “The inn can become quite a lively joint. The things I’ve seen…” he sighed, leaning into Blaine’s firm touch. His skin felt suddenly sun-kissed and electric in the midst of the dead autumn night.

“Well, don’t leave me out of the fun now, my love.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You’ve awoken an inner demon I cannot cage,” Kurt mumbled into the crook of Blaine’s neck. “I have no desire to put it to bed - though I would eagerly welcome it beneath the covers.”

Tormentingly, slowly, Kurt pressed his mouth to Blaine’s, sucking gently on his lower lip, teasing him and drawing out a moan before deepening the kiss.

“Now...how about we stop running from ghosts?” Blaine said, taking a breath before stealing another quick kiss.  

“The dead have no tales to tell, and I grow weary.” Kurt slipped his hand into Blaine’s, interlacing their fingers. “Let’s go home.”


	2. Chapter 2

The warmth and noise of the inn surrounded and engulfed its patrons, the bright light from the fire welcoming and drawing in numerous guests from off the dark streets, like oversized, slightly less dusty moths to a flame.

Kurt forced a smile when he caught sight of old Corpulus Vinius, nodding a hello before turning back toward the main room. His gaze swept over the crowd, locking in on individuals in turn, his brain quickly registering names and little factoids and tidbits about each individual.

The only strangers to him now we're those who were visiting from out of town and staying in the rooms. Those strangers never stayed strange to Kurt: while cleaning and straightening up rooms, he often poked around, snooping subtly through those travelers’ belongings. It was a more recent development and hobby of his, to learn everything he could about people. It helped pass the time, and it kept him current on the goings on within and outside of the city walls. Skyrim was so expansive and diverse, and Kurt had been starved for the human interaction and the knowledge that he'd consciously barred himself from during his years with the brotherhood.

“Kurt, ho!”

He turned at the all-too-familiar address that usually signaled something unpleasant would follow to which he would need to tend.

“What is it, Corp?”

“I need you to pick up some sweetrolls for Minette to keep her off my back.”

With a nod, Kurt acknowledged the request, to perform the small task that, although not directly related to his job, often made a world of difference. Minette Vinius was a comely young woman with ambitions that kept her and her father at odds. Mainly, it seemed like she couldn’t wait until he was feeding the worms so she could take over the inn, so the pastries were an unusually effective peace offering -- so long as she received them twice a week. As far as Corpulus was concerned, if Minette had her mouth full, then she couldn’t give him an earful.

“Another thing.”

“Yes?”

“The room all the way at the end of the hall reeks of piss. I need you to go in there and clean up after the filthy Argonian who checked out ‘round noon.”

“Aye. Consider it done.” Kurt nodded, staring down his boss until the man finally broke eye contact. For as loyal and hardworking Kurt had been these past couple years, Old Vinius still seemed to not trust him. He wondered if he gave off a peculiar vibe or if it was due to the fact that Kurt explained away the nasty scar on his arm by attributing it to a run-in with a mudcrab.

In a matter of minutes, the sweetrolls were secured and delivered, and Kurt was back inside the main room, gathering his supplies before heading toward the recently vacated offending room. During his brief absence, a bard must have slipped in for a drink and was now striking up a tune in thanks for the hospitality. The music stunned him in his tracks, each opening note like the fingers of a hand that tightly twined themselves like tendrils around his heart and tugged him far from reality, leaving his duties what felt like worlds away.

Kurt’s body was drawn toward the dark-haired man in robes that appeared otherworldly, the man whose fingers danced sensually across the strings of his instrument as if he was making love to the music. The lyrics delivered by the bard’s spellbinding voice snaked their way into Kurt’s brain and struck, igniting his temporal lobe like lightning crackling across the midnight sky. 

“That song…” Kurt’s brow knitted as he tried to piece together vague memories. “I think I’ve heard it before. If I may, Bard, how did such a song enter your collection?”

“I can’t say that I recall,” he answered. “I’ve been all throughout Tamriel, meeting people, watching, listening, and then sharing their stories. I’ve seen war, peace, something in between. After a while, the faces and places start to blend together, and I can almost swear that I’ve been there, seen so many of those faces before or heard their voices. But that’s the life of a bard, traveling alone, playing my music, creating new lyrics when the moment calls for it.”

The bard was right, Kurt thought, though he’d been experiencing something of the contrary now that he’d stayed in one place for some time. He’d once seen people as empty, nameless shells and numbers, but now he was able to see complex and intriguing beings with stories to tell. When he'd been on the run and hiding in the shadows, life was never in full definition. Kurt never used to really listen and observe, to pay attention to what surrounded him. Now life was in color, with clear lines and edges and sights and smells. Now he allowed himself to live and to find companionship in others. At times, he felt like he thought and felt too much and it made him wish his mind had a kill switch.

He was about to turn around and be on his way when he doubled back. “If I may, what is your name?” 

“Throughout these lands, I’m known as Starchild.”

Kurt was momentarily captivated by the man’s smile and the way his eyes shone like his namesake. “It was...nice to meet you.”

The bard bowed. “Likewise.”

As he began to strum away again at his lute, Kurt made his way down the hall toward the room at the end where he was to clean. Although often tedious, his housekeeping duties had some very nice perks. Kurt was no pickpocket or thief, but sometimes customers would leave behind certain items and valuables to which he’d help himself. This particular day, Kurt struck literal gold, pocketing a forgotten coin pouch he’d discovered tucked beneath the mattress. Perhaps the patron had hidden it _too_ well.

It was no exaggeration that the room reeked of excrement, and he wondered what on earth the Argonian had been doing in there. He could almost bet he’d find an empty bottle of Skooma. The scaly bloke probably sat there in his own waste, too out of his mind to notice or care. That was the thing about living in the city of Solitude: Kurt saw all types, and very few things shocked him now.

Once the room was neat and as clean as he could make it without setting fire to it, Kurt returned his supplies to the storeroom. He had just made it back to the area behind the counter in time to catch Corpulus in a rage, spewing some rather unsavory things.

“Fucking rats broke into the cellar and robbed my stores again! The scum took off with several bottles of wine and some cheese. I thought we were far enough away from Riften,” he spat, “but it seems they send their trash all over the continent.”

“I'll look into it,” Kurt told him as a means of consolation, but he had no intention of attempting to track down thieves of any sort. Having been in his place before, the former owner of an inn, he truly felt for his boss. But he couldn’t see the harm in someone stealing food, someone who probably would go hungry without it. The real criminals are the ones who have the means and watch the starving starve and do nothing.

A trip to the cellar was a retreat disguised as a favor. Any chance to get some time to himself Kurt was grateful for because there was only so much of Old Vinius he could take in a day. He was glad that now the sun had set, in a few short hours he would depart for home. Although he had become accustomed to prolonged interactions with the public and found some joy in conversation, it eventually became exhausting, and the only other person he could endure past a certain time was Blaine. After striking the flint and lighting the wall sconce, Kurt lowered himself onto a crate to relax for a moment and glanced around, seeing nothing except the usual shelves laden with boxes and bottles and sacks of flour, fruits, and vegetables. With a shake of his head, he rose to his feet, adjusting his apron around his waist.

Everything about this place was strange yet familiar, and when he lost himself in his work, Kurt sometimes felt like he was back in his element, back in Cyrodiil, as if he might turn a corner and run into Finn and see his smiling face.

Since moving to Solitude, Kurt had never lived better. He and Blaine had it made, both lawfully employed, the owners of a cozy and spacious home, and everything they could ever want surrounding them. Solitude was always bustling with activity, scholars, bards, merchants, travelers, hunters, and people partaking in commercial prospects, but as Kurt stood there alone amidst the cobwebs in the dusty basement, he felt hollow. Certainly, he’d finally found a way to feel like himself again, before the murder, before the revenge, and before the years of his life he'd dedicated to the brotherhood. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if he could ever truly be what he once was or if there was something inside of him that he'd suppressed, screaming to come back out, to take control.

And then he saw her face again in his mind’s eye, the woman in the night. He could still hear her scream so clearly, and his fingers twitched, his hand moving to his shoulder out of reflex, but grasped nothing but air.


	3. Chapter 3

Jubilant whinnies filled the air as the straw scattered about the stable grounds crunched and snapped beneath the hard leather soles of Blaine’s boots. As he reached the splintering wooden fence, a pair of large, dark, shining eyes caught his, and thunder suddenly shook the ground as the great beast made haste toward him. 

“Whoa, girl!”

The horse came to a halt and lowered her head in submission. Blaine patted it, combing his fingers through her mane, his other hand clutching a burlap sack, which he presented her.

“Guess what I picked up from the market for you?” He untied the sack and reached in to retrieve a ripe, red apple. Artemis pawed at the ground, nudging him in thanks as she took the apple between her teeth and crunched down, cleaving it in two. “You really like those, don’t you?”

Moving to the city had been just as much an adjustment for Artemis as it had been for Kurt and Blaine. Since the move to Solitude, Artemis had taken up residence in the stables on the outskirts of the city. With Blaine’s position in the guard, there wasn’t much work for his horse, save for the occasional patrol of the surrounding woods. Artemis was essentially retired, living out her remaining years in the care of the kind family, who owned the farm and stables, and stable hands under their employment. But here she had horse companions and plenty of space to run and explore. She seemed happy, and Blaine made a point to visit her every day, spoiling her with treats he’d pick up while strolling through town.

Not only did she seem happier, but the change of scenery and lifestyle seemed to improve the horse’s health. Her coat and mane were lustrous, she had put on a bit of weight, and when Blaine laid his hand on her muzzle, her hair felt softer against his palm and was undoubtedly thicker than before.

His grin was tinged with melancholy as he gave her one last apple and a firm pat before withdrawing his hand.

In his periphery, he saw a young boy, not but eleven or twelve, approaching.

“Hello, Sir.”

“G’day,” Blaine greeted.

Blaine knew him well enough by now, Tiberius, the son of the man who owned the farm, the one who would one day inherit the land and stables.

“I was just about to take these horses out to the pasture, but it looks as if your mare is happy where she is.”

Blaine smiled, watching Artemis nibble on a bit of apple core. “Oh, she’ll be done with me once the food’s gone, trust me,” he jested.

“Before you arrived, I’d never seen a horse as dark as night as Artemis. She's beautiful,” the boy said as he unlatched one of the stalls to lead a young, fawn-colored horse out.

Blaine fell into a brief reverie upon consideration of the comment. She’d been a gift, Blaine recalled, given upon his initiation into the brotherhood. Dark as night and swift as death, Artemis had been accessory to so many unspeakable things. All she’d ever known was their companionship, though Blaine would never doubt her intelligence and intuition. She was an innocent.

That was why he knew that he would never put her under that stress again. Artemis had a better life now, had been able to settle down, and Blaine would do everything within his power to not uproot the bit of stability he'd given her.

“How’s Queenie doing?” Blaine asked, referring to the horse the boy was now grooming.

Tiberius ran a coarse-bristled brush through the horse’s hair to work out the tangles and knots. “She’s a wild one. She got herself into a mud puddle this morning. Rolled around like a dog. It was quite a sight to see!” He shook his head with a giggle. “The bath she needed after wasn’t quite as fun. Now I need to brush her out before her owner comes to saddle her.”

“Ah, she’ll look good as new.” Blaine smiled. “A little mischief adds flavor to life. You can pass her off as if she has been nothing but proper as her namesake.”

The boy laughed aloud this time, his eyes growing wide as he looked into Queenie’s eyes. “Aye, her majesty in all her finest habit.”

Blaine chuckled, folding up the now empty sack before stuffing it into his satchel. His Artemis might be an innocent, but he’d found her in equally compromising positions, like the time she got her head wedged between the fence because she’d spotted some strawberries growing just out of reach on the other side.

He looked on at the boy as he went about his work, whose youth and innocence was still intact. It was a shame that something as pure as a child could so easily be corrupted, Blaine mused. There were too many temptations and threats out there in the world, and so very many close to home, especially in a city as diverse as Solitude. Although it was a foolish thought, he hoped that the boy would never lose that part of himself.

Kurt had been so young when he lost his father in the most gruesome and traumatic manner, and it sent the young man down a path from which he could never fully recover. He knew Kurt would never completely forgive himself for the blood he’d shed and the lives he'd taken. Blaine felt something like anger flow like lava through his bloodstream at the thought, his determination to combat the scum that committed such heinous acts, who manipulated and controlled those who couldn’t help themselves, growing almost unbearable.

He needed to act, and he needed to do it in his own way, to rid the world of those who prey on the helpless and defenseless.

Even as guard captain, his power was limited. The law of the land still reigned supreme, and Elisif the Fair would surely have his job and his head if he stepped out of line. As long as Blaine was wearing the crest, the wise, formidable wolf, he would maintain pack mentality and lead as commanded. When Blaine first took the position, he’d felt a sense of honor and duty to serve and protect the city. For once, he was the one giving the orders, and he felt powerful and in control. But as time passed, reality dawned on him, that he was still a pawn in someone else’s game, even though the elite in power fancied themselves the good guys. Although the game wasn’t taking contracts and payment for murder, the city guards served little purpose other than to protect the Blue Palace and ensure the jarl wasn’t robbed blind by a member of the notorious Thieves Guild or any lesser criminal.

Blaine had seen life from both sides of the wall, through the eyes of the wretched before standing shoulder to shoulder with nobility. It was because of this that he could see through the veil and see people for who and what they truly were.

In a short matter of time, Blaine would don the uniform, pull on the armor, carry the sword and shield, and wear the helmet that concealed many of his features and stripped him of autonomy. Every day, he became one of the nameless, faceless soldiers. But when the crest came off in the evening and was safely stowed away in the chest at the foot of their bed, out of sight and out of mind, Blaine was a free agent.

“Good bye,” he called to Artemis as she turned to trot away. “Be good,” he added, more to himself than to the mare. For a moment, he stood immobile, his gaze unfocused, and then turned and headed back toward the path that led back toward the city walls, within which he’d become Captain Blaine Anderson until the sun set once more. 


	4. Chapter 4

Blaine's head turned at the creaking of the front door, a smile gracing his face at the sight of Kurt. Work at the inn often required Kurt to work past midnight, and while Blaine was on patrol, he’d sometimes not come home for a few days. It was rare for the two to be home at the same time during waking hours, and neither took their luck for granted.

“You look like you’re up to something,” Blaine said, immediately picking up on Kurt’s body language.

Kurt reached into the left breast of his tunic, revealing a piece of parchment. Unrolling it as if he were a royal messenger with important news, he cleared his throat and began to read.

“‘My Beloved…’” Kurt paused to compose himself but couldn’t keep it together for even a solid minute, breaking down into derisive laughter, and then he crumpled up the letter and tossed it aside. “I can't even stomach that crap enough to mock it. As soon as I saw the phrase ‘your breasts are milky white as moonlight, so tender and sweet as skeever meat’ -- I nearly lost my lunch! I did this oaf a favor by swiping this off his dresser,” Kurt managed through laughter so hard it felt as if his sides were splitting.

“That’s horrifying,” Blaine said, unable to control his own amusement as he cracked up. “Good gods, we know that man is not bedding that woman anytime soon.”

“I almost feel bad for him,” Kurt said, shaking his head as he unfastened his satchel. From within it, he produced a bottle of wine and a large wheel of cheese, earning a look of severe skepticism from Blaine.

Taking one look at the label, Blaine knew all too well that Kurt had stolen it.

“What?” Kurt said, trying his best to pull a look of absolute innocence.

Blaine simply shook his head and allowed himself to accept it. He could let it slide this one time and enjoy the spoils.

“I told you I wasn't a good guy, but in my defense, Vinius left the cellar unlocked, just begging for someone to take advantage. So I did. Relax. I know you're secretly proud of me.”

“And what did you do with the other bottles that mysteriously went missing?”

“How do you know...oh, yeah. They didn't make you captain for no reason. He reported me?”

“Not you, but a ‘dirty, drunken, thief’.”

Kurt wore a smug grin. “Not drunken - yet. Or dirty...yet. But he did get the thief part correct.”

“You make it very hard sometimes to ignore the fact that I should have arrested you a long time ago.”

“But you didn't. And you won’t -- though I wouldn’t be opposed to being tied up -- because you know that you're stinking -- yet very handsome -- hide deserves to be rotting in that cell right beside me.” Kurt leaned in by Blaine's ear, lowering his voice. “Admit it, you love keeping _dirty_ little secrets.”

Blaine shivered. “Maybe. I think it has more to do with the fact that I couldn't live without your petty thieving, criminal hide beside me every night.”

Kurt smiled, knowing he had Blaine wrapped around his finger. “Precisely.”

Blaine raised a brow. “Are we indulging or not?”

“We are undoubtedly drinking and eating and then making very merry.” Kurt pulled the cork and emptied the entire bottle into two large silver tankards. He thrust one into Blaine's hand, a bit sloshing over the brim. “Cheers, love. Tonight, we drink like kings.”

With a dull metallic clank, they toasted and drained a portion of their drinks.

“I visited the stables this morning,” Blaine began.

“All is well with Artemis?”

“Of course. She's doing better than ever, eating plenty, getting along with the other horses.”

“Then why the somber tone?”

Blaine was quiet for a moment. “I spoke with Tiberius. The lad told me a silly story about one of the horses taking a mud bath. He’s not but maybe twelve, you know?”

Kurt nodded, his mouth filled with cheese, which he nibbled on while listening in slight bewilderment.

“When I looked at him, all I could think about was how young you were when you lost your father. You never talk about it.” Blaine was finding it hard to look Kurt in the eye when he posed the next question. “What happened, Kurt? To him? Your father...did you ever find out why he was murdered?”

Caught off guard, Kurt froze. He carefully set down his tankard and swallowed. “I know. I’ve known for years, but I’ve done all I could to pretend I didn’t and to forget. My father, he was involved in a shady dealing and had a debt he’d never settled. The nature of the debt is the only thing that’s still unclear, but it was grievous enough that not settling resulted in his death.” Burt Hummel’s death was a blow that completely shook Kurt’s world. It was then that he learned that even good men have their flaws and secrets. Kurt shivered then sat up in the chair as if he’d been pulled back to the present. “When you’re that age, your father can do no harm, he’s a king in your eyes. My father was wholesome and kind and could do wrong to no one. The entire affair nearly shattered that image, but I choose every day to maintain his memory and remember him as I saw him when I was a boy.”

Blaine watched Kurt fondly, admiring his decision. “Your father’s love is what’s worth the most to hold on to.”

Kurt’s appetite had diminished, and he gulped down the last of his wine before rising to his feet. Reaching out, he took Blaine’s hands and led him across the stone floor toward their bed chamber.

“Enough talk of what we’ve lost,” Kurt said, leaning in and nuzzling into Blaine’s neck. “It’s terribly depressing, and we’re supposed to be merry.”

Blaine smiled, his eyes falling closed as Kurt kissed his neck and unfastened the front of his tunic. “Merry is good,” he breathed, pulling Kurt flush against his body. He ran his fingers down his back, feeling the muscle and bone beneath his soft, tender flesh. Pressed against Kurt’s hot, solid form, Blaine was at peace. Kurt’s arms made all life’s woes seem insignificant, and his hands were like a sculptor's, able to move and manipulate Blaine into something animalistic.

With a soft thwump, Blaine’s shirt fell to the floor, followed shortly by his pants.

When they were together like this, Kurt could ascend his troubling thoughts and mute the world around him. Blaine was his haven and what often felt like his sanity. As he latched his mouth onto Blaine’s shoulder, Blaine’s cock swelled, rising in arousal.

“Tonight, I’m completely yours,” Blaine murmured, feeling weak and pliant.

Kurt’s own arousal spiked with the consent to dominate and control, and he could feel the power flowing to his fingertips as he shoved Blaine onto the bed, swiftly shedding his clothes before crawling onto the mattress to straddle him.

Kurt’s mouth tasted of spiced succulent grapes and honey, his kiss far more intoxicating than the drink had been. Their mouths and tongues collided in a rhythm that was gradually building as Kurt’s erection slid against Blaine’s and their bodies slotted together.

Those skillful hands massaged and caressed his thighs, urging Blaine’s legs apart, bringing his knees up until they were pressed to Kurt’s chest, his legs nestled comfortably between them.

Gasps and whimpers filled the air as Kurt’s fingers worked Blaine open, his kisses becoming hungrier, more rapid and uncoordinated. And then Blaine felt the blunt, velvety tip of Kurt’s cock brush over his entrance, dragging backward and forward beneath his balls, teasing him before Kurt shifted, pushing ever so slightly past the relaxed muscle.

Kurt let out a triumphant moan as he buried his cock deep inside Blaine, his tight heat enveloping him, causing him to cry out in pure ecstasy. Pulling back, Kurt felt Blaine’s body rise, his legs wrapping and locking securely around Kurt’s hips. And then he thrust forcefully, taking all that was his, claiming Blaine with a gentle violence that sent ripples of indescribable gratification throughout his being.

Reality melted away as Kurt moved inside Blaine, pleasure swelling in their bodies and dripping from their pores. The lines blurred where one man stopped and the other began, and Kurt took and took and took, fucking into Blaine, who writhed beneath him and begged for more and more.

Kurt clutched Blaine’s ass as he rocked forward one last time, pulsing come, filling Blaine as he shuddered through his orgasm.

Before Kurt had a chance to pull out, Blaine pushed him away, interlocking their knees before rolling him onto his back.

Kurt’s eyes grew wide, but his mouth was curled into the most blissful grin. “Fuck, Blaine,” he groaned as Blaine tweaked his nipple with his tongue.

“I wanna feel your beautiful mouth on my cock,” Blaine said, running a thumb over Kurt’s bottom lip. He crawled up the bed until his knees framed Kurt's shoulders and his hips hovered above his neck, his cock bobbing by his chin. “Taste me, Kurt.”

Kurt was too spent to resist, and the way Blaine gave him orders was _so_ hot. Blaine’s fingers tangled in his hair, lifting his head until Kurt’s mouth was level with the slick tip of his heavy cock. His pink lips parted as Blaine pressed himself against them, sliding into the wet heat of his mouth. The sudden pressure and friction of Kurt’s tongue sent a pleasant shiver up Blaine’s spine, and his hips jerked forward, causing Kurt to gag.

Alarmed, Blaine began to pull out, but Kurt hummed in opposition and grabbed his ass, urging him back inside. Once again, the salty, savory taste of Blaine filled his mouth, and he hollowed his cheeks and relaxed his throat.

“Oh, gods, you’re amazing,” Blaine breathed, beginning to move more fluidly now. His fingernails scraped Kurt’s scalp as his grasp on his hair tightened.

Kurt licked and sucked as Blaine mercilessly fucked his mouth, zealously chasing his orgasm. With each thrust, the sensation was quickly becoming too much and too intense, and Blaine knew he was close. Kurt could feel the pressure building until Blaine gasped and cried out. Come spurted over Kurt’s tongue and rolled down the back of his throat, and he swallowed as Blaine slid out, the last drops dribbling down Kurt’s chin.

“I love you,” Blaine mumbled and repeated over and over, lazily dragging his lips down Kurt’s chest and pressing a trail of kisses to his damp skin.

Kurt licked his lips and swiped his wrist across his mouth, barely wanting to exert the energy to keep his eyes open. “You, sir…” Kurt managed, grabbing onto Blaine’s curls and pulling him in for a kiss. “I have never loved you more. And your body. I’m in love with the way you let me use you...and the filthy way you just used me.”

Blaine felt a pang of guilt at the comment. “Kurt, I didn’t -”

Kurt shushed him. “I love to obey orders, Captain.”

“Next time you’ve been bad, maybe I will tie you up,” Blaine played along.

Kurt moaned at the thought. “ _Please_. You make me want to break the law more often. I guess this makes me _above_ the law.” He smirked.

“Or beneath it,” Blaine said, pressing a palm to Kurt’s chest to force him further into the mattress.

“You know, I always wondered what people in town think of us. Two men living together, the Captain of the guards and a lowly apprentice at The Winking Skeever.” Kurt laughed. “I imagine they think I’m a servant in your lordly manor.”

“If only they knew the truth,” Blaine said, rolling over to cuddle up beside Kurt.

“You might be in control when you lead your guards, but you know _I’m_ the boss within these walls.”

“Yes, sir,” Blaine agreed. “You’d make me lose all credibility with my men.”

“Your men?” Kurt purred. “You make it sound like you run a brothel.”

“Well, we do sleep in close quarters in the barracks, practically on top of each other. I could make them do whatever I say.” Blaine waggled his eyebrows, and Kurt punched him in the arm. “I deserved that.”

“You do what you want with your men, but remember you’re all mine. Tonight and forever.”

Blaine rolled onto his stomach, brandishing his ass. “As sore as my bottom gets sometimes, it’s nearly impossible to forget.”

Kurt slapped it, a red mark roughly the shape of his hand rising to its surface. “If I wasn’t so exhausted, I might be inclined to lick it to claim it.”

Blaine felt like he might get hard again. “Now, Kurt, you can’t say things like that,” he whined.

“My love, remember who runs this manor.” He walked two fingers from the small of Blaine’s back to his shoulders, bringing his mouth close to his ear. “I will say and _do_ whatever I desire. And at this moment…” Kurt sat up and pulled the covers down to slip beneath them. “I desire sleep.” 

With the wine still coursing through his veins, both physically exhausted and sated, Blaine settled in without even a hint of opposition. 


	5. Chapter 5

Maintaining anonymity was effortless in a large city such as Solitude, making it no feat to blend in. However, for two fairly high-profile individuals, it was necessary to exercise extraordinary caution, especially when deliberately partaking in unlawful behavior, regardless of intent.

Kurt and Blaine would need to be particular about disguising themselves in order to go about and not arouse suspicion. While neither Kurt nor Blaine were strangers to stealth, the assassin’s robes that once concealed them and aided their endeavors had been destroyed years ago before they’d skipped town and eventually found themselves in Skyrim.

Kurt poured a generous amount of ale into the patron’s tankard, grinning bashfully at the stubble the man had recently sprouted and decided to keep. He refrained from reaching out and brushing his knuckles across his cheek.

“Ah, good evening, Captain Anderson!” Vinius exclaimed, drawing far more attention to the man than was wanted. “Drink is on me! You pay nothing tonight.”

Blaine lifted his cup. “Many thanks, kind sir.” He drank deeply, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Kurt leaned in, his elbows resting on the counter. “You're quite the hero, I see.”

They'd hoped for discretion to discuss their options for proper attire behind the facade of a casual, public conversation, but it was apparent that Blaine’s presence brought an atmosphere of paranoia to the inn. Guests were much quieter than usual and spoke in hushed tones, their eyes repeatedly flitting around and roaming toward the man across from Kurt as if they all bore guilt.

“It’s probably not the best time or place for this after all. I’m not even in uniform, and they’re all afraid of me.”

“No one will have the slightest clue what we’re talking about as long as you act nonchalant. Trust me.” Kurt pushed the tankard across the counter closer to Blaine. “Now, drink up.”

Blaine took another gulp. “I was thinking blue, dark blue.”

Kurt began to nod slowly. “Ah, yes. Like royalty. Or like a bruise. Not bad, and not black, thankfully. There’s just something so dull about one solid color.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Blaine said.

“Red,” Kurt continued, “like power.”

“Or love.”

Kurt hummed in agreement, getting lost momentarily in the way Blaine had spoken the word.

“I'm sure we have something lying around.” Blaine rose to his feet, stirring Kurt. “All my gratitude for the drink,” he spoke for the room to hear. “You have a good evening, sir.” With a wink, Blaine excused himself and made his way out.

Upon his exit, it was as if the entire place had risen from the dead, and the patrons’ usual spirits returned, the dreadful quiet obliterated by shouts and laughter and song.

 

-A-

 

Kurt had gone still, the rustling of robes ceasing suddenly enough to cause concern.  

Blaine looked over, his eyes drawn to the spot by which Kurt was transfixed. It was too silent in the room as they suited up, and Blaine could hear Kurt’s calm, steady breaths, though he was clearly lost somewhere in the recesses of his mind, tormented by an arresting memory triggered by the scar on his arm.

Blaine's fingers flexed, closing around the hilt of the dagger sheathed at his hip. He brought it into the light, the blade now laid carefully across his palms. Without stirring Kurt, he took a few steps forward, and then gently cleared his throat.

Kurt spun around, blinking, his eyes wide and disoriented, appearing as if he'd been abruptly woken from a deep sleep.

“I wish I could take back the pain I caused you. I never meant to scar you like that.”

“It wasn't your fault. You were following orders.”

“I was too blind and too weak. I’m glad I have a different perspective on following orders now. Tell me what I can do to rectify it. I’ll do all I can.”

“Only fools linger on the past. There's no rectifying or changing what's been done. You made mistakes, but, so what? You can choose how you act in the present -- like rid the world of wretched, guilty men. That, Blaine, is what shows a person’s true character.” Kurt grinned at Blaine with a melancholy fondness. “And speaking of character, this scar adds character...it’s nice. Call me sentimental, but I actually love when I can see that scar on your thigh, too, and not just because it means we’re probably fucking.”

It was an Imperial guard’s sword, not Kurt, that had inflicted the injury which caused Blaine to be marked forever. Nonetheless, their scars were like tattoos of their time together, marking different stages of their relationship: strangers to partners, rivals and enemies to lovers. Other couples might exchange rings and jewelry and other valuables as tokens of their affection and to show their devotion, but Kurt and Blaine shared something more than skin-deep, had shed blood and healed together, and those permanent marks on their bodies created a bond on a much deeper level than anything as superficial as gold or jewels.

With a swift and unexpected movement, Blaine took a step toward Kurt and kneeled by his feet like a knight before a king. Arms outstretched and head bowed, he lifted the dagger in offering.

Kurt reached out and stroked the blade with his fingertips, pulling back with no more comprehension than before. “Nightshade…I always admired this blade.”

“It’s yours,” Blaine said. “I want you to have it.”

“I - I don't understand,” Kurt said. “Isn't it a family heirloom? I couldn't let you part with it.”

“I wouldn’t be, not really.”

It was his most prized possession, the most permanent and withstanding thing he owned. Blaine had vague recollection of how he'd come to possess the dagger, and its significance seemed little more than a master craft of his family's trade. Forged by one of his ancestors and passed down through generations, the story behind it was unclear, but he'd accepted it and cherished it.

But now holding onto it and even thinking about using it again felt wrong, as if he still owned the act and the pain he'd inflicted. Surrendering the dagger to Kurt meant relinquishing control and ownership over the pain it had caused him in the past.

Kurt placed his hand beneath Blaine's chin and tilted his head to meet his eyes. “If I accept it, then what weapon will you have?”

“I have other blades, short swords and daggers I've acquired during my service with the city guards.” Blaine had access to a large weapons store, and he was certain no one was keeping proper inventory. “Please, take it.”

Kurt hesitated and then closed his fingers around the hilt. “Thank you.” He withdrew his knife and swapped it out for Nightshade, sheathing the dagger safely in his boot where he'd kept the knife concealed.

Offering his hand, Kurt helped Blaine to his feet so their eyes were level again. He pressed a brief kiss to Blaine's lips and uttered, “We have work to do.”

 

-A-

 

The guard captain knew every guard post and the schedule of his men’s rounds. In fact, Blaine had intentionally planned out that evening’s assignments in order to avoid any interference or confrontation.

Silent and surefooted, they crept along, even though their hoods and masks made them unrecognizable and able to move about freely as they patrolled the outskirts of the city.

Earlier in the day, Blaine had caught wind of a suspicious individual in the lower district, an area well-known for its uncouth and shifty inhabitants. Its residents didn’t own much in terms of wealth, and crime ran rampant within its limits, often spilling out into the more prosperous districts as well as the marketplace.

Their stakeout hadn’t lasted long before they spotted exactly what they’d been waiting for.

A small shadowy figure crossed Blaine’s line of sight and moved anxiously through a group of men.

With a subtle nod and crook of his hand, Blaine made a turn toward the figure, pushing forward with Kurt following closely behind.

The small group of assembled men spotted the newcomers and quickly dispersed, scattering like cockroaches in the light, but the person of interest was not among them and had slipped into an alleyway.

Kurt narrowed his eyes as he peered through the darkness. Now that the figure removed his hood, they could clearly make out that the small figure was nothing but a young boy. It was the man he was meeting with that caused them concern, and they stayed back, crouched in the shadows to listen.

“Nothing?! You swear to me? Turn out your pockets, you little shit,” he growled.

The boy did as he was told, revealing only a piece of bread and an empty coin purse.

The man snatched the purse from the boy and swatted his bread from his hand and into the dirt. “I didn’t hire you to be a petty thief. You’re stealing bread now? But you can’t be trusted to pick up the drop.”

“The area was swarming with guards,” he whimpered. “They couldn’t have known -- they never patrol the west hills-”

The boy shrieked as he was struck hard across the face, the blow knocking him to the ground.

An arrow and went whizzing past Blaine and straight into the man’s knee, sending him akilter as he cried out in agony.

Before Blaine could stop him, Kurt had drawn his blade and rushed toward the man, grabbing and holding him tightly, the dagger poised at his throat.

Blaine approached slowly, momentarily mesmerized by the way Nightshade glimmered in stark contrast against the darkness of the man’s cloak.

“Who the hell are you?” the man gasped. Rather than fear, there was menace in his eyes.

The boy had scrambled to his feet, clutching the side of his face, but he was frozen in shock as he watched.

“We are no one,” Blaine answered. “We are something this world has evaded for far too long. We are justice.”

“What we would like to know is who the hell you think you are, manipulating and abusing children for your shady operations. If I had to guess, you’re a smuggler who’s too much of an amateur to do your own bidding. If you thought your work was too much of a risk before, we’re going to show you what happens to people who exploit others in attempt to cut corners.”

The man spit in Blaine’s face, and Kurt tightened his grip, nearly slicing his throat right then and there, but Blaine held up a halting hand.

“Whatever it is you do, it’ll die with you, I can guarantee it.” Blaine looked to Kurt, giving him the signal.

Metal punctured cloth and skin as Kurt drove the dagger into his neck, piercing an artery. With a swift movement, he removed the blade to open the wound and released his hold. The man’s body collapsed to the ground where he choked and writhed, a shining pool of crimson spreading gradually around his head and body. Blood spurted and poured from his throat until he grew still.

The boy tried to take off and Blaine lunged to catch him, holding him firmly and gently as possible around his middle. When he finally stopped squirming, Blaine set him down, keeping hold of his arm and turning him around.

“Please, let me go. I promise I won’t do it again!” He began to cry, tears streaking his swollen cheek.

Blaine shushed him. “It’s okay, you’re safe…” His stomach dropped as moonlight split through the dark gray clouds, highlighting the boy’s features. His jaw dropped as he mouthed wordlessly. It was him, the son of the stable master. “Tiberius,” Blaine spoke just above a whisper without thinking.

Startled, Tiberius jumped and pulled away, but couldn’t break free from Blaine’s grasp. “How do you know my name?”

“Never mind that,” Blaine said, his tone soft, but it quickly became grave and scolding. “We’re not here to harm you. I’m not going to ask how you got roped into such dangerous business, but I better never see you out here again, do you understand?”

Tiberius was trembling with tears still streaking his face, but he swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“All of this, it may seem like there’s nothing to gain but gold and glory, but there’s so much more to lose. A boy like you should never be out here consorting with riffraff like that coward who has no regard for anyone but himself. Had he met not the fate he did, he would have used you and disposed of you when he no longer found you of value.”

The boy looked back at the lifeless body, quickly turning green. Blaine released him just in time to not get hit by the projectile stream of puke that followed.

“I'm sorry you had to see that. Your face -- are you okay?”

The boy nodded in response, wiping the sick from his mouth.

“Then go. Your father will be worried. Go home now, and never let me catch you out here again.”

Tiberius took off like a rabbit with a fox on its tail. He was gone from sight within seconds.

Kurt placed a hand on Blaine's shoulder and nodded. “It’s time to go.”

Without another word, they fled the scene, leaving the drained corpse behind. The townspeople would find the man when the sun had risen, though not before the insects and scavengers. Nonetheless, they would give the body a proper burial, if only to prevent it from stinking.

 

-A-

 

The stench of Kurt’s blood-soaked gloves filled the entrance hall of their manor, making him giddy. Once inside their bed chamber, Blaine helped strip him down with great care. They at least needed to keep up appearances, and even a drop of blood on the floor or furniture could tarnish that image.

Blaine lifted the lid of the chest at the foot of their bed and lay the boots, robes, and cowls neatly inside before securing them with a click of the lock.

“I’ve never seen you like that before,” Kurt said, shifting in his seat on the bed. “What is it that caused you to become so cross with that boy?”

“I don’t know what came over me. It wasn’t supposed to be Tiberius. He never should have been there. Gods, I felt like I was responsible for making sure that boy didn’t make the wrong decisions, but I couldn’t stop him. I know it sounds ludicrous, but in that moment it felt as if he was my own son.”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever felt the pull of paternity,” Kurt said.

“Maybe somewhere along the way...maybe there’s something I’m missing out on.”

Blaine’s words hit like a sharp blow, more excruciating than Kurt had imagined words could ever be. His heart ached, but anger overtook him as he realized how powerless and insignificant Blaine made him feel.

“Come now,” Kurt said. “That’s not fair.”

Realizing how he’d come off, Blaine wished he’d never spoken. “Oh, Kurt, it’s not like that. I didn’t mean -”

“No, I’m not naive. Having lived the wayward lives we have, a bit of normalcy is terribly inviting. We never had the chance to know fatherhood. But you didn’t want a wife, and what good would it do to bring more children into the world? Unless…” Kurt paused, seeing the pain in Blaine’s eyes. He swallowed hard. “Is that what you want, Blaine? Did you once imagine yourself with a wife and a family of your own?”

Words failed Blaine as he stood there, immobilized by his own thoughts and fears.

He shook his head. “No,” Blaine answered resolutely. “I never imagined that sort of life for myself. The truth is, I never imagined any sort of future, not after my initiation into the brotherhood.”

A dog could have barked from far beyond the city limits and they would have heard it in the harrowing moment that followed.

Questioning Blaine any further felt as if it would merely act as a double-edged sword: while knowing might bring temporary satisfaction, there was no doubt it would cut them both so deeply that only time and solitude would heal their wounds. Kurt knew he'd gone too far, crossed a boundary neither he nor Blaine had ever been prepared to. He wasn't wrong to seek knowledge of the deepest desires of the man he loved, and he wanted nothing more, no matter how much it hurt to know the truth.

Kurt knew where he stood in Blaine’s eyes and in his heart, and decided then that he’d rather some truths remain dormant if, when awoken, all they’d cause was storm and stress and threaten the foundation of their house and home.


End file.
